Tuesday, 4 September 2012

Quiet time - under millenium bridge, the Olympic Poetry now silent. Past the Globe - the whispering water washing against the shore. A dustbin lorry whining in the streets behind the buildings. The tidal Thames talks to the pier as the water rushes to the sea.

Under Southwark Bridge - a siren, a heavy lorry, the noise of traffic soon far away - two people chatter under the arch.

Clink Street - the sound of steel wheels screaming against the track on the bridge far above

"Morning Gents - mine's a muffin" he calls, offering Big Issue and a conversation with everyone who walks by.

Oh, a taxi, slowly turning on the pedestrian path as we approach the Golden Hinde, resting before a pirate scares forty schoolkids with stories from the high seas.